for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

‘the colour plum’ in a quartet of (non-haikai*) 3-line poems…and why

I think I’m veering farther and farther away from haiku, but the structure has stayed like a template in my being; hence, my lines insist on being ‘three’, of two parts often unrelated (juxtaposition). While I still draw the essence of my poems from Nature, what comes out no longer expands contemplation but rather, the lines focus often on painful truths. I know there’s enough pain swirling in the universe right now (as is perceived) and it’s what I can’t seem to whitewash with the beauty of virgin snow. I wish I could but in writing haiku, the practice of finding ‘two-sides’ in a whole, has stayed with me as a simultaneous numbra/penumbra, thus, these non-haikai* poems. Still, it could just be a phase that has slipped in with grey November, which spring will lift up.


the colour plum

hints of pay back



bramble flower

still not enough

prickly stares


isolation bars

no matter our fingers

in knots


speckled steps

dare you break

rain patterns


moon basket

in it I carry

a widow’s comb


*nod to Johannes S. H. Berg, who coined it


November 28, 2014 Posted by | comment, non-haikai, poetry | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Window by window and We (two ‘tiny’ haibun at Prune Juice)

Window by window 

She peels her mornings.  A miser of darkness, she lets the sun in by strands. I saw her once. She is a flower.  

at the cusp 

of Cancer and Leo 

a fire wheel



We write our names together. It’s marriage says the book. Our meals apart. It’s work. We feed different nights. In different skies. What then is it?

cross wind—

cliffs echoing

wrong echoes 


prune juice November 2014


November 25, 2014 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

random seasons, a haiku/senryu series

stone wall

mottled hands escaping

through air


ham flavor

hangs about her sweater

hospice weekend


though touch-less

the intimate rustle of silk



dog buries



hobbling out of my midnight winter moon


apple core

how to bottle



a tiger

musing on my eye

autumn dusk


chopped beets

i wash the knife

of traces


open page

an opaque scent

in his bath water


oak stump–

i remember the hornets

last summer


shell shards

on a paint roller

a womb


November 25, 2014 Posted by | haiku, poetry, senryu | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

a simple test (a non-haikai play of verses)


what cranks the wheel

why we need to care

which way to hold an infant

how to wipe dry the tears

when to turn away an eye


whose hand to hold on a cliff

whatever happens in dreams

whichever flower to lay on a tomb

however a name sounds

whenever a manacle breaks

whosoever belongs to whom

where to bury endings


because wounds bleed

laughter crackles

smiles break walls

sobs thicken nights

giggles bring in the dawn

sighs stir cankered clouds

words breathe life to bones

wings shade a peregrine

ponds feed moonlight


I will brave the deep

vow on a mountain

promise with the galaxies

pledge on steel

believe moons stay

November 12, 2014 Posted by | free verse, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

conversations…a tanka duet


we do try
to strain storm dregs
old selves on a wire mesh
in bus conversations


leaf orange boy
leaning on his elbow
point by point
on Confucius with dad
knee-high in fall

posted at Tanka Poets in Site (facebook)

November 6, 2014 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment